Most Prized Possession
by ckret2
Summary: Many secrets surround Lord Voldemort, including the fact that he and Gilderoy Lockhart were once lovers.  But when a new wanna be Dark Lord kidnaps him, what will he do to get 'Roy' back without revealing his secret? [Post HBP, DH spoilers, AU. Slash.]
1. In Search of Easy Street

A/N: Before we start, some essential information. Yes, this fic is Voldemort/Lockhart. That means heavy-duty slash, folks. The fic goes AU starting from the end of Book 6, but there are still Deathly Hallows spoilers. DH canon will be recognized, even if the events in it don't all happen. And just FYI, the genre filter on FFnet is severely inadequate. This fic is more like Romance/Drama/Adventure/Humor. If any of you found this fic through the genre filters, you might want to Alert it, because I might change the secondary genre in the future. This fic sticks as close to canon as possible and attempts to keep everyone in character. If anything drifts off into OOC-land, I expect you to let me know. Thank you!

The first half of this chapter is like a prologue of sorts. It might be a while before I get chapter 2 up. I hope to finish up some of my other almost-done fics first. But even if it's been a while since I've updated this fic, I will come back to it, don't worry.

Please review/comment/critique/complain/rant/whatever! Thank you!

Disclaimer: I don't own _Harry Potter_, the world, the characters, et cetera, due to the fact that JKR does. I own this fic, the plot, and a few original characters.

* * *

Most Prized Possession

In Search of Easy Street

* * *

"What are you doing in here?"

Gilderoy Lockhart yelped, dropped the book he'd been looking at next to his trunk, and whirled around. For a moment, what he saw terrified him, a skull-like face in a black cloak; then he recognized it as a fellow Death Eater, dressed the same as he was. "Oh... Bellatrix, it's you." He forced a smile on his face. "You gave me quite a fright, my lady..."

"Don't give me that, Lockhart," Bellatrix snarled, stalking towards Gilderoy. She hesitated just at the threshold of the room, as if she were crossing from profane land to sacred ground, but then entered and marched up to Gilderoy, wand raised. "What do you think you're doing back here, tonight of all nights? You know what they're saying! Our Lord, fallen! To a _baby!_"

"Yes, I've heard, Bellatrix," Gilderoy said, eyeing her wand carefully. "Terrible news..."

"I _said_ don't give me any of that!" Bellatrix lifted her wand higher, holding it just beneath Gilderoy's chin. "I want to know why you're here! In our Lord's personal chambers—his own bedroom—mere hours after these rumors started. Well, Lockhart?"

"I..." He gulped, wondering whether it would be wiser to concoct a story or tell the truth.

Bellatrix didn't give him a chance to decide. She stalked past him, dark eyes peering around, until they settled on Gilderoy's open trunk. Her lips twisted into a cruel smirk. "What have you got here?" Still pointing her wand at Gilderoy, she crouched down and started riffling through the contents of his trunk with one hand. "Thought you'd flee while our Lord was set back, Lockhart? Thought you'd take advantage of his weakness and go through his belongings? Steal whatever strikes your fancy?"

"N-no, of course not!" Gilderoy said quickly. He tried another smile, hoping he could win her over, but it didn't seem to want to form. "My Lady Lestrange, you misunderstand me. I'm not—"

"Liar!" she screeched, standing up. Her wand shot off a spray of agitated, sickly green sparks as she pointed with her other hand into the trunk. "How do you explain this?"

"Those are _my_ things," Gilderoy said. "I merely came to retrieve them. I wouldn't dream of stealing from To—from Lord Voldemort." After all, he needed to make a quick escape, if the rumors were true.

"Prove it," Bellatrix said, in a tone that quite implied that she knew he wouldn't be able to.

Without a word, Gilderoy walked up to the trunk, pushed several other items aside, and pulled out a lacy, lilac robe. He could almost see Bellatrix's thoughts as he watched her face: first intense concentration as she tried to imagine Voldemort in the robe, and then she curled her lip in revulsion. "Fine," she snapped, lowering her wand.

"Thank you," he said, offered an apologetic grin, and went back to packing his things. He picked up the book he'd been looking at, a photograph album, and added it to the trunk. Now, where had he left that box of spare hairnets?

Bellatrix watched sharply as Gilderoy hurried across the room, looking for his box on the other side of the bed. Voldemort had probably shoved it in a drawer or cabinet somewhere... damn, he'd never find it again...

As Gilderoy located his combs and brushes (all seven of them) and returned to his trunk to pack them, Bellatrix said, "Why do you have so much of your litter in the Dark Lord's room?"

"That," Gilderoy said, "would be between himself and me." He winked at Bellatrix, and hurried to find more of his possessions that Voldemort might have shoved out of sight. She bristled.

"Scum," she said. "I've never understood what our Lord saw in you. Far be it for me to question him, of course, but certainly no one told me what you have to offer him. You don't fight for him, your position as a Junior Minister hardly makes you a worthy spy, you don't have any particular skills that he could make use of... As far as I can tell, you're just a pretty face."

"Oh, that's not all he likes about me," Gilderoy said airily. "I'm a pureblood, too."

Bellatrix snorted, disgusted, and Gilderoy latched shut his trunk. He drew his wand, muttered, "Wingardium Leviosa," and floated the trunk in front of him and out the door.

He couldn't risk visiting the alleged scene of Voldemort's fall, in case it was true; Ministry officials would be swarming the Potter house, no doubt, and if they saw Gilderoy they would ask him what he was doing there, how he had heard the news so quickly. Then it would be safest to protect himself, to get out of the way of danger; if the rumors turned out to be false, Voldemort would surely find Gilderoy and tell him so. Perhaps he wouldn't be as merciful to other followers that abandoned him, but Gilderoy didn't care about the others. He was a special case.

"Running away so soon?" Bellatrix hissed, following him. He could almost feel rage radiating off her. "Where's your loyalty, Lockhart?"

"A man's got to look out for himself," Gilderoy said. "I'm sure Lord Voldemort will understand."

"Understand! Ha!" Bellatrix said. "His will comes before our own, always! You would know that by now, if you were truly one of us!"

"Well, no one said I'm one of you, did they?" Gilderoy said calmly. He pushed up his left sleeve to show Bellatrix his unblemished forearm.

Behind her skull mask, Bellatrix's eyes widened. "You refused the Dark Mark?"

"I was never offered it," Gilderoy said. Though, to be perfectly honest, if he had been, he probably _would_ have refused it.

"So now you plan on running off and denying you ever associated yourself with the Dark Lord," Bellatrix said. "Coward! Traitor! You don't think you'll get away that easily, do you?"

"No, not at all," Gilderoy said. "Though I plan to give it a try."

"Do that," Bellatrix said with a sneer. "We'll stay here and defend our Lord's name. If even one of us should be captured, it will be your name we'll give to the Wizengamot, when they ask us who else marched in our army! And we'll tell them, all your little friends at the Ministry who think you're such a bold, heroic man, exactly what you are!"

Gilderoy resisted the urge to try to pacify Bellatrix. He walked on, keeping his trunk afloat, until he could get out of this manor and past the Anti-Disapparition defenses.

"I would kill you right here," Bellatrix said, lifting her wand, "except then I wouldn't get the pleasure of turning you in to the Ministry."

And because she didn't know why Voldemort valued him, Gilderoy thought. She wouldn't want to unintentionally displease her Lord. "Bellatrix, my dear, there's no need to—"

"_Bellatrix, my dear!_ Oh, shut up," she said, then dropped her voice to barely above a whisper. "I've known you were a traitor all along. Every time the _Daily Prophet_ comes with another article about the capture of a Death Eater, you'd always make sure you got included somehow. You'd claim to have an instrumental part in every arrest. I can't imagine how that could be, unless you've been leaking information, Lockhart?"

"Actually," Gilderoy confessed, "I've been lying through my teeth to the _Prophet_." He did what he must to keep his limelight.

"Oh, have you?" Bellatrix said. "That's all you're good for, isn't it? Making sure all eyes turn to you whenever you want them and look away when you don't. You can distract them with your smile and a handshake and then they won't notice what you do the rest of the time. That's it, isn't it? Your greatest skill is looking out for yourself."

They were now outside the manor and quite a distance from it. Gilderoy stopped, let the trunk sink with a soft thud to the lawn, and turned to face Bellatrix. "My Lady Lestrange," he said, beaming at her, "you are exactly correct. As far as I am aware, every talent I possess directly relates to my own self-preservation. And that," he lifted his wand so it was pointing upwards at Bellatrix's head, "is precisely why Lord Voldemort values me so much. _Obliviate!_"

Bellatrix stumbled back, momentarily stunned by the force of the charm, and Gilderoy took that opportunity to grab the handle of his trunk and Disapparate.

She would still retain most of her memory; Gilderoy was worried about the consequences if someone found her, discovered her mind had been wiped clean, and started searching for whomever had done it. However, she'd completely forgotten that she had ever met Gilderoy, much less that he was a Death Eater. He was merely covering his tracks.

He appeared in an alleyway in Hogsmeade. Quickly, Gilderoy opened the trunk, took off his mask and cloak, and buried them as far down as he could, before shutting the trunk again and casting a Disillusionment Charm on it. He walked out of the alley and quickly joined the witches and wizards on the streets, dressed in a lovely aquamarine robe, with nothing about him to suggest that he would ever consider associating himself with a group like the Death Eaters. Before he escaped, he had to have more information.

After figuring out where he was in Hogsmeade, Gilderoy hurried to the Three Broomsticks. It was early morning, still in the dark of night, really. He was surprised at how many people were up and about, but, then again, if the rumors were true, the wizarding world would be too excited to sleep. He listened closely to snatches of conversations he passed on the streets:

"Yes, that's what they're saying, You-Know-Who..."

"The Potters, I hear the mother and father..."

"It was the boy, wasn't it? Harry..."

"He's the Boy Who Lived! A killing curse..."

"Don't know how Harry Potter did it, but good riddance..."

None of this was very positive news.

When he entered the Three Broomsticks, the room was already packed, even though the sun was an hour or so from rising. Every table was filled. For a moment, Gilderoy stood helplessly in the doorway, wondering how on earth he was supposed to find anyone to get news from. He finally took a deep breath and decided he'd do what he always did: bluff his way in.

He looked around until he found someone he recognized, someone whom he knew was a Death Eater but didn't know that Gilderoy was. He was sitting at a table, looking quite timid, surrounded by strangers. Gilderoy hurried his way over, his usual smile in place.

"Fancy meeting you here!" he said to the Death Eater. "Peter Pettigrew, wasn't it?"

Peter let out a startled squeak, and said, "I-I'm sorry, I don't think—"

"Oh, that's quite all right, I'll introduce myself." He turned to the four other men at the table. "I'm Gilderoy Lockhart, Junior Minister." He didn't mention that he worked in the Accidental Magic Reversal Department. "I'm sure you've heard of me?"

Peter evidently had, for he let out another fearful sound. For a moment the other men gave him a blank look, and then one said, "Oh, yeah! You're that one in the _Prophet_ all the time. Haven't you helped get something like twenty Death Eaters the Dementor's Kiss?"

"Well, I don't like to brag," Gilderoy said with a modest chuckle. "Actually, it's thirty-three." He looked at Peter. "Though they don't always get the Kiss. Sometimes we ask them for their cooperation and go easier on them if they offer it."

One of the other men said, "So, you know all about what happened with the Potters, do you?"

"Well, yes, I did swing by the scene of the crime before coming here. I dare say I've probably figured out more than most of the Ministry officials about exactly what happened tonight," Gilderoy said. "I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to release any new information. And yet..." he tried to put on a face like he was having some sort of internal struggle. "I think the public has a right to know the truth."

The entire table was leaning forward eagerly, hopefully. "Here," one said, standing, "have a seat. Can you tell us anything at all?"

"Well," Gilderoy looked thoughtful, taking the seat. "I suppose... perhaps I could do my bit to clarify any rumors running about. Tell me what you've heard, I'll sort out the truth from the trash."

The men at the table broke out in smiles, all except Peter Pettigrew. "That's more like it, Lockhart! That's what we want to hear!"

"So, start from the beginning," Gilderoy said. "Everything you've heard."

"First thing we know, the Potters' house was under a Fidelius Charm," one man said. "But the Secret-Keeper must've been one of You-Know-Who's spies, isn't that right?"

"Yes, yes, that would be correct," Gilderoy said. Peter looked utterly terrified at this point and sank low into his seat, keeping his eyes on the surface of the table (which was about level with his nose by now).

"Who was it?" another asked. "I heard it was Dumbledore himself protecting the Potters."

Gilderoy would have heard from Voldemort if Dumbledore had ever come to their side. "That rumor has absolutely no founding in truth," he said grandly. "You may as well Obliviate it from your mind."

The men nodded, wide-eyed, and continued speaking.

From what Gilderoy gathered (as he confirmed that all the rumors he thought likely were solid "truth" and dismissed those that didn't sound convincing to him), Voldemort had set out to kill the Potters the night before, on Halloween. He'd somehow gotten inside, killed both James and Lily Potter, and tried to use the Killing Curse on baby Harry Potter. And then...

"Utterly preposterous!" he exclaimed angrily, making the other men at the table jump. There was no way the Dark Lord, Gilderoy's Lord Voldemort, had been finished off so easily. "The—the idea! A baby, capable of killing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Impossible!"

The table was staring at him, and, Gilderoy noticed, so were several nearby tables. Apparently they'd started listening in as he shared his so-called Ministry information on the case.

"So... what happened?" the man who'd last spoken asked. "I mean, 's what we all heard..."

Gilderoy quickly collected himself. "What I mean to say," he hurriedly said, "is that there are other variables we are overlooking. You can't honestly believe that a mere infant hopped out of his cot, picked up his dead mother's wand, and defeated the Dark Lord in a wizard's duel, do you? I would have thought you sensible adults would be smart enough to come to the same conclusion I reached the moment I heard the story: this can't be literal fact."

Those listening slowly started to chuckle in embarrassment. "Guess you've got a point there," another man said. "Then how did it really happen?"

"There were other, hidden factors, of course," Gilderoy said. "Consider the possibilities: lingering magical traps and protections the parents left to save their dear child. Would you do any differently? Would you hesitate to do anything to defend your child from the Dark Lord?"

There was a moment's silence, and then a ginger-haired woman stood up. "I would not!" she said. "I've got seven children, none of them old enough to go to Hogwarts and one of them not even three months old, and if I thought, even for a moment, that _he_ was targeting them, I would do everything humanly possible to protect them. I'd lay my life down for any one of my children, and I don't know a mother who wouldn't!" She was cradling a baby in her arms as she spoke: a girl, if the faded pink blanket wrapped around her were anything to judge by.

"Madam, I feel no need to elaborate on what you have already said," Gilderoy said. "You spoke nearly as eloquently as I would have." He stood up and turned to the room at large (which was now all listening) "Mothers, fathers... sons and daughters, brothers and sisters—is there anything any of you _wouldn't_ do to protect your family from the most powerful, most terrible, most blood-thirsty Dark Lord who has ever lived?"

No one spoke. Gilderoy congratulated himself on distracting everyone from the fact that he hadn't actually explained how the Potter baby had survived. "I knew it," he said softly. "I knew, from the moment I walked in, that these people in here were the bold, brave sort. And for this, I feel I should reward you—perhaps to reveal the name of a Death Eater, recently discovered by the Ministry, that none of you have yet heard of? Someone who may be... very, very close to us all?" Every man and woman in the Three Broomsticks leaned towards Gilderoy, their breaths slowed, waiting to hear what he said next.

Gilderoy stole a glance at Peter Pettigrew, who was shivering in his seat, sweat streaming down the sides of his face. "But first," he said, "Everything, absolutely everything known about the tragedy of the Potters must be revealed. Does anyone else have any information?"

"I do!"

Peter Pettigrew had leaped to his feet, knocking over his chair, hand raised as if he were still in school and waiting for a professor to call on him. "Calm, Peter," Gilderoy said, smiling gently at him. "Where do you get this information?"

"I... I..." His voice had been reduced to a trembling wheeze. He swallowed. "I was a friend of the Potters," he said. "I knew them... very well."

"My, my, another inside source," Gilderoy said. "Splendid! What do you know?"

"Th-the Potters were betrayed," Peter said. "Their Secret-Keeper went to the Dark Lord, and t-told him where they were."

"Yes, we've been over that. Go on," Gilderoy prompted. Maybe now, he could find out what had truly happened to Voldemort.

"He went to their house, yesterday night," Peter said. "And killed James... and Lily..."

"Tell us something new," Gilderoy snapped.

Peter gulped. "And when he cast the Killing Curse on the baby, it rebounded! It hit him instead!"

Gilderoy didn't speak for a moment. "Is that it?"

Peter nodded. "I-it backfired. He killed himself."

Killed himself? That couldn't be it. It _couldn't_ be. Not after all the ways Voldemort had worked to protect himself. "So, you're saying he just died? Like that? And his body is simply lying there in baby Potter's bedroom?"

"N-no, not like that!" Peter said. "I heard... he vanished. His body and everything. The spell, it... it blew up half the Potters' house. The Fidelius Charm... it's broken."

"And that's all?"

"Yes," Peter nearly whispered. He looked to be on the verge of fainting.

"Very well," Gilderoy said quietly. With a heavy heart, he turned to the rest of the room, smiled cheerfully, and announced, "Everything he's said is true!"

As the Three Broomsticks erupted in cheers, Gilderoy had to grab the back of his empty chair to keep from falling, his knees were so weak. That couldn't be the end of it, he told himself. Voldemort wasn't dead. He _wasn't dead_. How could Avada Kedavra vanquish him like that, when his soul was still spread all across Great Britain?

"And now," he said, struggling to still sound chipper—Gilderoy Lockhart was well-known for his sunny personality, after all—"I believe I made you all a promise?"

The room quieted again, to listen.

For a moment, Gilderoy considered giving them Peter Pettigrew's name, his news had been so infuriating. But, no, best to pick someone else. After all, Peter would owe him, if Gilderoy let him go. However, if he could have it both ways...

"Peter Pettigrew!" Gilderoy said, and all in the room gasped. Peter squeaked in terror, but Gilderoy snatched his arm before he could escape. "Yes, none other," he said. "In fact, the very reason I came into this establishment was to arrest him. Now, if you would kindly step aside..." He drew his wand, waved it, and instantly all the tables and their occupants between himself at the door zoomed to the side. "Thank you, thank you," he said, walking through. The tables moved back to their original places in his wake. Peter tried to wrench his arm away, and his wrist was so slick with sweat that he almost succeeded; Gilderoy tightened his grip, digging his nails into Peter's arm. "I appreciate all of your hard work, and your loyalty to the Ministry!" he said, and applause spread behind him. "Your pain and your sacrifices were not in vain! If I know anything at all about what the future brings—and I am quite a natural at Divination—I think it's safe to say a new era is dawning for wizarding kind! With the Dark Lord fallen, you and I can all look forward to better days! Thank you!"

He was at the door now, and the applause had reached thunderous levels. He shoved Peter Pettigrew out before him and turned to look at the entire inside of the Three Broomsticks. He took a moment to focus on what he wanted to happen, on whom he wanted to affect and how, and then...

"_Obliviate!_"

Everyone stumbled back, as though a shockwave had passed beneath them. They looked around at each other, not sure why they were clapping and why some of them standing, and slowly sat down and began talking again, cheerfully.

If Gilderoy's Memory Charm had worked properly, then they would remember everything he'd said, except for his promise to reveal a Death Eater and his "arrest" of Peter Pettigrew. He was still the hero of the hour, and Peter owed him his life.

"There. They won't remember anything about you," Gilderoy told Peter, shutting the door to the Three Broomsticks. "You're completely free. I could take you to the Ministry right now if I want to, but you've been helpful. I'll let it slide, for now."

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Lockhart!" Peter said, falling to his knees and grabbing the bottom of Gilderoy's robe. He jerked his robe out of Peter's hands before he could start kissing them, disgusted.

"Save your adoration for the Dark Lord, Pettigrew," he muttered. "Whatever you may have heard to the contrary, _Lord Voldemort still lives_. Remember that."

Peter flinched at the name. "Wh-what?"

Gilderoy had already turned away and started hurrying back the way he'd come, wanting to return to his trunk as soon as possible. He hoped Peter was too cowardly to tell anyone what Gilderoy had said; it could damage his name immensely.

One thing was certain, he thought grimly. He couldn't stay in the country for long. Soon, the Ministry would be searching for any stray Death Eaters, rounding up potential Voldemort sympathizers, giving them trials and shipping them off to Azkaban. He did not want to face Bartemius Crouch. He doubted Crouch would be very impressed by his stunning good looks.

Not that there was much to stay in the country for, without Voldemort. Most of his life had been built around the Dark Lord. Eleven years ago, it had seemed like such an easy way to gain fame: attach himself to Lord Voldemort as he rose to power, get a bit of distinction and celebrity reflected onto himself. Now, it looked like he'd have to find another way to go about finding his fame.

Gilderoy took the Disillusionment off of his chest, and sat on it as he thought about where he could go next. Perhaps he could get his fame while traveling. Do what he'd always done; borrow others' limelight, jump in after the battle was over and pretend he'd been in the thick of it.

But it wouldn't be the same, without...

He sighed and stood up. He could look for whatever was left of Voldemort as he traveled; Gilderoy had heard him say once that if he ever needed to hide, he knew of a place in Eastern Europe that would be suitable. He'd never told Gilderoy what that place was (even after over a decade together, he always guarded his secrets), but Eastern Europe was a starting place.

The sun was only now beginning to rise, tints of pink disturbing the blackness and the stars. It was too empty, the sky. With a glance to the entrance to the alleyway, knowing he was taking a great risk, Gilderoy cupped his left hand in front of the tip of his wand and whispered, "_Morsmordre._"

The image of a tiny skull with a pencil-thin snake slithering from its mouth appeared in Gilderoy's hand, glimmering brightly and casting an eerie green glow on the skin of his palm. He studied the miniature Dark Mark, and sighed. It would be a long time before he'd see it glimmer in the sky again.

"I'll look for you, Tommy," he murmured to the symbol of the Dark Lord. He leaned forward as if to kiss it, but it dissolved on contact, leaving a weak buzz in his lips like the aftermath of static shock. "I'll wait for you," he said, "and if I ever hear that you've come back, I'll be right beside you again."

He considered adding _I promise_, but Gilderoy's promises had always been worth nil and Voldemort knew it too. The only time Gilderoy could be guaranteed to tell the truth was when he acted upon his words: that was the strongest promise he could make.

So Gilderoy grabbed the handle of his trunk, pictured a Muggle port that had cruise ships he could take down to the Mediterranean, and Disapparated.

He would set out to search for two things, his lover and his fame—whichever was easier to find.

* * *

_Sixteen Years Later_

* * *

In the Janus Thickey closed ward, almost none of the residents got out of bed before the sun had been up several hours. They would waste the hours of glorious light streaming through the windows from seven in the morning... eight o' clock... nine o' clock... until the nurses made them get up at ten. The lights would all be out. Only dim sunshine through the white shades illuminated the many curtain-divided beds of the ward. All was still, long after the day began.

Gilderoy Lockhart hated mornings in the closed ward.

During the first few months of his incarceration within St. Mungo's, he had suffered in silence, watching the seconds tick by on the clock on his bedside table. All the other patients could sleep until ten, so surely, he was supposed to as well? He couldn't remember anything about his life before suddenly being aware of himself in a dark stone tunnel with a rather friendly redheaded boy for company, so perhaps all people were meant to sleep late into the morning; perhaps his inability to sleep another three hours was one of the flaws he was to conquer before he could leave the hospital.

It had taken a therapy session with a kind nurse he couldn't recall the name of to set him straight. He wasn't crazy; he was an "early riser." It was perfectly natural for some people to wake up early. However, he couldn't get up, couldn't make noise, and couldn't turn on the lights until everyone else was awake. Those were the rules.

And so, Gilderoy wasted three hours a day, an eighth of a day, half of half of _half_ of every day, sitting on his bed waiting to be allowed to get up. He was bored.

Which was why he'd started breaking the rules.

On this particular morning in mid-July, he was sitting up in bed, brushing his hair in the dark (he could do it without a mirror now), when the door to the closed ward clicked open at eight o' clock. The nurses checked in every two hours on the patients. This morning, Nurse Hermes, the tip of her wand glowing softly, moved among the beds, checking the occupant of each one before moving on. Seeing Gilderoy was awake, she nodded in greeting as she passed, and then quickly finished her rounds and left.

As soon as Nurse Hermes locked the door behind herself, Gilderoy slid out of his bed, put the brush back in its drawer in the bedside table, and walked quietly to the door. The next nurse wouldn't be by until ten. As long as he got back before then, he was fine.

Gilderoy took the doorknob in both hands and focused. He knew, from what other people had told him, that he was a wizard and he could do magic, but he didn't remember how and he didn't have a wand. But he did know that if a wizard hadn't been taught to use magic, sometimes it went out of control. (He'd already accidentally broken a couple of flowerpots from across the room that way.)

So if a wizard without training could do magic without a wand, he could use this to his advantage and focus on what he wanted to do...

After a moment of concentration, Gilderoy heard the lock in the door click back, and he stepped into the hall. It had taken him over nine months of practice every morning to figure out how to unlock that door, but it was well worth it. He shut the door behind himself without locking it and headed down the hallway, away from the Janus Thickey closed ward.

He wandered until he found a newspaper stand that had free _Daily Prophets_ for the patients, took one, and wandered onward, flipping through the pages. If he ever wanted to rejoin the outside world, he had to keep up with the news.

There was a long eulogy for some man named Albus Dumbledore. The name was familiar, perhaps Gilderoy had met him before. He seemed to recall someone with a similar name in the short time he'd been at that big castle Hog-something, before he'd been sent to St. Mungo's.

The next article, an editorial, caught Gilderoy's attention. It was an article about what might be the next move of someone referred to as You-Know-Who. To Gilderoy's great surprise, he _did_ know You-Know-Who. His name started with a V, and he was a Dark Lord... Oh, how nice. It had been quite a while since he'd remembered something this important; his last break-through had been remembering his birthday, December 10. Unfortunately, he'd remembered it a couple of weeks late, and the nurses still thought he'd made up the date just to get extra Christmas goodies.

He couldn't tell the nurses about this discovery, though. If they knew he'd been sneaking out of the ward each morning and reading the _Daily Prophet_... well... honestly, he hadn't a clue what they'd do, but it certainly wouldn't be good.

He put the _Prophet_ back where he'd found it and looked for the way back to the closed ward. Which direction was it, again?

He heard footsteps behind him and whirled around, already prepared with a dozen excuses he could give the nurse to explain his absence from the Janus Thickey ward. Except it wasn't a nurse who was following him.

"Oh, hello there," Gilderoy said, offering a smile. The young woman didn't respond. She walked right up to him, stopped about two feet away, and looked him up and down. "Are you Gilderoy Lock'art?" she asked, with a faint accent that he couldn't remember the country of.

"Yes, ma'am," he said. "That would be my name." Whatever could she want with him? Perhaps she was one of the people who kept sending him letters? He always wondered what he'd done to warrant so much mail.

"Good," she said curtly, tucking her hair behind her ears and drawing a short, burnt-orange wand from an inner pocket of her cloak. (She had nice hair, Gilderoy thought, wavy and light brown, but not _nearly_ as nice as his. He always found himself comparing the looks of people he met to his own looks; he regularly came out ahead.) "You shall be coming with me, Mister Lock'art."

"Um," he said. "May I ask why?"

The young lady shot him a glare, and he instantly amended all his previous judgments about her attractiveness. The whites of her eyes were crawling with thick, bloodshot red veins, and black rings hung heavy beneath. "Because ze Dark Lord Voldemor' will be very interested to hear you 'ave been taken 'ostage."

Voldemort, that was the name he'd been trying to remember. "Pardon me, but I don't think I quite understand," Gilderoy said nervously, taking a couple of steps backwards but still trying to be polite. This whole "hostage" deal couldn't be good news. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

"You shall see," the young lady said. She lifted her wand, held it barely an inch from Gilderoy's forehead, and murmured, "_Stupefy_."

Despite the softness of the word, the spell blasted Gilderoy back with the force of a small explosion. He fell hard ten feet away. He thought he could hear, very faintly, shouting from down the hall. Perhaps the nurses...

Gilderoy kept his eyes open just long enough to see the fuzzy outline of the young lady step up to him and bend down; he felt her grab the thin fabric at the collar of his shirt and felt the cold pressure of nothingness as they Disapparated; and then he slid away into unconsciousness.

* * *


	2. As Seen on TV

A/N: I'm not gonna beg for reviews or anything like that, because that would be silly. I'm not gonna threaten to not work on this fic because I'm having too much fun with it. But, seriously. I wrote almost six thousand words last chapter and got three reviews. If anyone's reading this and enjoying it, how am I supposed to know if you don't tell me so? I can't force anyone to review, but I'd appreciate it if you let me know that you're here and enjoying this. (I mean, if you made it to chapter 2, I know that you at least liked this enough to get past the first chapter.) So, please. Even just typing "good fic" is enough to let me know someone thinks this fic has some merit.

So, with that authorial plea out of the way, please enjoy chapter 2! No Lockhart this chapter, but he'll be back soon.

* * *

Most Prized Possession

As Seen on TV

* * *

It was lucky that Harry had rarely gotten a full night's sleep since Dumbledore had died. Otherwise, he might have been annoyed when someone knocked on his door at four in the morning.

Upon further reflection, he realized that he was pretty annoyed anyway.

Harry had been idly flipping through the photo album Hagrid had made of his parents, looking by the light of the stars and the moon, when something had pounded on the door, almost making him drop the book out the window. He sat still for a moment, trying to coax his heart to slow down. He hadn't heard anything louder than a squirrel in the bushes under his window for the past five or six hours. Almost a minute passed before whoever was outside pounded again.

Sighing, Harry got to his feet. The knock was too loud and dull to be Aunt Petunia, but wasn't accompanied by the furious shouts that would mean Uncle Vernon was outside. That left Dudley, and by the muffled sound of his thuds, he was trying to keep quiet.

Harry wove his way around the scattered textbooks and school supplies on the floor to the door. He opened it and saw Dudley, in his pajamas. "What do you want?" he whispered irritably. "Is this about next week again?" Next week, the Order of the Phoenix was helping the Dursleys relocate, to keep them safe from the Death Eaters.

Dudley shook his head. "No, no—that's fine," he said quickly. "Look, have you seen the news?"

Harry stared at him blankly. "The _what_?"

"The _news_. On the _television_," Dudley said impatiently, as if he thought Harry didn't know what a television was. "Have you seen it?"

"It's four in the morning, Dudley," Harry said. "Why would I be watching the news?"

Dudley considered the question for a very long moment. "Come on," he finally said, and headed down the hallway towards the stairs.

"Wait, why?" Harry asked, stepping into the hall but not moving any further.

"I've got to show you," Dudley said. "Come on!" When Harry didn't move, he added, "It's about _your_ people."

Harry still wasn't coming. As far as he knew, this could be a trap to get Vernon to come downstairs and yell at Harry for watching TV in the middle of the night. He had every reason not to believe Dudley.

Finally, Dudley grunted and said, "Wait there." He ran downstairs, was gone for about twenty seconds, and came back up. "They're talking about... uh..." An expression of intense concentration crossed his face. "Dark Lord... Woldamor."

A jolt of shock passed through Harry. There was no way Dudley could have remembered that name on his own—garbled as it was. "That's Voldemort," Harry said, jogging past Dudley and down the stairs. The television screen was glowing from the living room, so he hurried in there.

"It sounded like Woldamor to me," Dudley argued. He followed Harry into the living room and sat on the sofa while Harry crouched on the floor.

It looked like a homemade video was playing on the TV. A girl was sitting in front of the camera, speaking, but the volume was down. "Why isn't the sound up?" Harry asked.

"It's playing on loop. Wait for it to start over, it doesn't make sense if you start in the middle," Dudley said.

Harry nodded and just watched. The girl looked fairly young, an appearance enhanced by a single pink ribbon tying back her wavy hair, and the fact that she seemed to be wearing the Beauxbatons uniform, even though on closer inspection she was clearly a few years too old for school. Behind her seemed to be a bedroom, like the room of a little girl—the bed had a pink cover with hearts stitched on, and there was a large collection of homemade dolls and decorated pillows crammed on all the shelves and flat surfaces in the room.

But the girl's face was almost the opposite of the rest of the scene. Her expression was grave, and something about her eyes didn't seem... healthy. The video was too dim for Harry to see what exactly, but something was wrong with her.

The girl stopped talking, and after a moment, the screen went black.

"That's the end of it," Dudley muttered, and turned up the volume with the remote. In a moment, the video started over:

"_For most of you, zis is not for your eyes,_" the girl said. "_Zis message is for a very particular person. 'E will most likely be not watching, but 'e shall still 'ear, soon enough._"

"What's going on?" Harry whispered.

"How am I supposed to know? She's one of _yours_," Dudley hissed back.

"_My name,_" the girl continued, "_is not your concern. My business, 'owever, is ev'ryone's. I seek ze Dark Lord Voldemor'._"

"Told you she said Woldamor," Dudley said.

"Okay, fine, she has an accent. Quiet," Harry said. Who was this girl? What did she want with Voldemort, and why was she making an announcement on Muggle television?

"_You 'ave not 'eard of me before, Lord Voldemor'. You shall very soon. I am like you: a Dark Lord. And I am far more threatening than I appear._"

"That can't be hard," Dudley muttered. Harry gave him a curious glance, and he said, "Well, she's just some dumb girl! She doesn't look that scary!"

For once, Harry had to agree with Dudley. She didn't look threatening in the least. Except for her eyes...

"_I know quite a bit about you already... Tom. I know about t'ings zat few others do—like your diary. And your ring, which by ze way, 'as already been destroyed. You 'ave Dumbledore to thank for zat. I could say more, but..._" The girl smirked. "_Per'aps not now._

"_Zere is only one t'ing for you to remember, Lord Voldemor'. I 'ave somet'ing very important to you. You do not know what, or where it is hidden._

"_I will be in ze fields east of 'Ogsmeade, zis Friday, at five o' clock. If you wish to see me, I expect you to be there. But, if you 'ope to get your precious t'ing back, you will not 'arm me in any way_.

"_Bring 'oomever you wish, as long as you realize zey will be worthless_.

"_I look forward to meeting you soon._"

The screen went black for a moment, and then flashed back on.

"_For most of you, zis is not for your eyes..._"

"That's it?" Harry asked.

"Yeah. It's been doing that for an hour," Dudley said. "Or more. That's when I looked, anyway." Harry didn't bother asking why he'd been watching TV that early.

"What's she talking about?" Dudley asked. "She's one of you, right? Since she's talking about Dark Lords like you've been doing since you got back."

"Yeah, she's got to be a witch," Harry said. What _was_ she talking about? She knew about Voldemort's real name, and about two of his Horcruxes... What could she possibly take from Voldemort that was important enough that he wouldn't hurt her? Another of his Horcruxes?

Harry was hit with a sudden thought. _R.A.B.!_ Maybe she was the one who'd stolen the locket! It would make perfect sense. He'd have to tell Ron and Hermione, see what they thought...

"Well?" Dudley said, gesturing at the screen. "What's all this about, then?"

"I don't know," Harry said, half distracted.

Dudley screwed up his face in annoyance. "What do you mean, you don't know?" he asked. "You're supposed to know what's going on with your people!"

That was why he'd shown the message to Harry, then. Of course it wasn't out of any kindness; he just wanted to know what was happening. "So? You don't know everything that's going on in the Muggle world, do you?"

Dudley almost looked like he would get mad, but then changed his mind—undoubtedly a Herculean effort for him. "Don't say that word."

"Why not?" Harry said. "It's what you are..."

The video ended again, and this time it didn't repeat. After a moment of static, the television returned to its regular program. Harry got a glimpse of a bed, some underwear, and a lot of skin, before Dudley turned the TV off. "Exactly what were you doing watching the telly at this hour?" Harry asked slowly, trying not to grin.

Dudley got to his feet threateningly, and Harry jumped up. He didn't want to be a sitting target if Dudley got truly mad. "Shut up," Dudley grumbled, his face red with embarrassment. "Don't say anything or I'll tell Dad I caught _you_ watching it."

"Fine," Harry said. He wasn't particularly surprised to find out what Dudley had been watching, anyway. He headed back towards the stairs; there wasn't much good he could do down here. "Don't worry about that video, it's not your problem," he said. As an afterthought, he added, "You might want to stay indoors on Friday."

* * *

It was past five when Hedwig came back from hunting, and by that time Harry was starting to feel the effects of sleeplessness. Even so, he had work to do—he couldn't just forget about that video. So as soon as Hedwig returned, he said, "I need you to get a letter to Hermione, as fast as possible. Are you up for a delivery?"

Hedwig hooted and perched on the windowsill, eager to get her letter.

Harry pulled out a parchment, located a quill and inkbottle from the mess on his floor, and scribbled out a letter, careful not to mention Horcruxes in case someone else picked up the letter. He figured that discussing the video was fairly safe, most witches and wizards would be talking about it today.

"_Hermione—_

"_Did you see that message this morning on the television? I doubt Ron did, he wouldn't have a telly. What do you think it means? And what are we going to do about it—do you think the Ministry's seen it yet?_

"_What do you think she has that could make Voldemort listen to her? What if it's one of those things Dumbledore told us about? Maybe she's R.A.B. It's possible, don't you think?_

"_I bet Voldemort didn't even see it. There's no way he watches television._

"_Write me back soon._

"_Harry._"

He rolled up the parchment. "Here," he said, and tied it to Hedwig's leg with a piece of string. "When you give this to Hermione, wait for her response, all right?"

Hedwig nipped Harry's finger gently to acknowledge his question before she took off.

He watched until she'd flown out of sight, and then took off his glasses and lay down on his bed. Perhaps he could get some sleep before Hermione replied.

He had a feeling he wouldn't be getting much more for a while.

* * *

"My Lord, I have urgent news from the Ministry," Lucius said, bowing low. How ironic, thought Voldemort, that the man had to bow and scrape just to be allowed into his own den. He appreciated irony, as long as it was at others' expense.

It was probably only because the image of Lucius looking like a servant amused him that he didn't throw him out, with a few Crucios to make his point. It was far too early for him to be dealing with anything at all, particularly urgent news. Lord Voldemort was not a morning person. "What is it, Malfoy?" he demanded.

Lucius kneeled before the seat where Voldemort was sitting (and where he _had_ been sleeping a moment ago, but no need to let his followers know that). "A... a threat, my Lord," he said. "A girl, claiming to be a Dark Lord. She has publicly challenged you."

"A Dark Lord?" Voldemort echoed, sneering. There were dozens scattered over the world who were called "Dark Lords." Voldemort himself had inspired some of them to pursue the title, and a few—very few—had inspired Voldemort himself. But he could count on one hand all the Dark Lords he knew of who even approached his level of power. "If this challenge is public, why hadn't I heard of it before you arrived?"

Lucius looked uncomfortable. "It was issued through Muggle communication channels," he said.

"Television?" Voldemort guessed.

Lucius looked surprised. "Yes, my Lord."

"Why so startled, Malfoy?" Voldemort asked coldly. "Did you assume your lord wasn't aware of the Muggle contraption?" How else would he have been able to keep track of the Muggle Cold War while traveling abroad? He'd spent most of the fifties traveling back and forth across the Iron Curtain, keeping up with the news while gaining power; he'd kept hoping the Muggles would blow themselves up and save him the trouble.

"N-no, of course not. I would never assume—" Lucius fell silent at Voldemort's glare.

A mere girl, claiming to be a Dark Lord, foolish enough to challenge Lord Voldemort, either too naive or too powerless to use anything but a Muggle form of communication to address him. "She won't be a threat," Voldemort said. "Don't disturb me with such trivial matters again. In case you've forgotten, Malfoy, you are in a particularly vulnerable position." Voldemort had Lucius's house, he had Lucius's wife and child under his power.

If Lucius were wise, he would back out now. Instead, he said, "But, my Lord. Shouldn't you at least see her message?" He drew forth a video tape and held it out.

Voldemort scowled at the piece of Muggle technology. "Destroy it!" he commanded. "I have no need to watch it."

"She could be a danger!" Lucius said, getting to his feet. "She says she's taken something of yours—She was powerful enough to commandeer every Muggle station in Great Britain for two hours—"

"Hardly a challenge," Voldemort hissed, standing up and looming over Lucius. He drew his wand and pointed it at Lucius. "I tire of your insubordination, Malfoy. Destroy that thing or I will, whether or not you're in the way!"

Desperately, Lucius asked, "Is your name Tom?"

In shock, Voldemort's hand clenched convulsively around his wand, so it trembled in his grip. A wave of fury and terror shuddered up his spine. His back went rigid, his nostrils flared, his eyes widened. "Who... told you that?" he whispered.

Lucius quickly held up the video, his hand trembling even worse than Voldemort's. Apparently he thought the change in his lord's demeanor was due more to anger than fear. "The girl—she used your name," Lucius said.

"Show me."

"Yes, sir." Lucius drew his wand, pointed it at the video, and muttered, "_Ostendetur Specialis_."

The video tape shuddered. Lucius let go of it, and it hovered in mid-air. A ghostly gray image of a girl, standing in a dim room of toys and trinkets, appeared above the tape and spoke in a hollow voice. Lucius backed away as Voldemort watched the girl.

* * *

Harry was woken up later that morning by a throbbing through his scar. He jerked up, clutching his head with both hands, waiting for the pain to subside. He squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his teeth, as furious thoughts that were not his own tore through his head.

_She knows my name! She knows about the book—the ring—how dare she! How did she find out? What does she know? What has she taken?_

_The book, the ring—she knows of _them._ She knows about my Horcruxes. If she's taken one... but how... I should check... stolen something important to me..._

_No, if I look, she might follow me, pursue me. Then she'll know for sure..._

_If I send Nagini..._

The pain finally dulled, and the voice died down to a murmur, and then disappeared. Harry tentatively opened his eyes, wondered why everything was so blurry, and then remembered to put his glasses back on.

Apparently, Voldemort had just seen the message. That answered one question.

Harry glanced at his clock; it was past nine in the morning. He may as well get up now, the Dursleys loved to harass him for being the last one up. Except, of course, on days when Dudley slept until noon. Though sometimes they harassed him even then, it mostly depended on their mood.

Sure enough, when he got down to the kitchen, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia both gave him cold looks as soon as he walked in. Dudley didn't meet his eyes.

"Explain," Vernon snapped.

"Er, sorry," Harry offered. Usually he just got a lecture. "I guess I just needed more sleep."

"Not that!" he said. "You—boy... _owls!_"

"Excuse me?" Harry said. He wondered if Hedwig had accidentally delivered Hermione's response downstairs.

"Show him!" Vernon said to Petunia. Her mouth in a tight line, she gingerly handed over an opened letter from the Ministry of Magic. The address said "Mr. Dudley Dursley, The Kitchen Table, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey." Harry glanced over it and said, "But this isn't for—"

"READ IT!" Vernon bellowed.

Harry read it.

"_Dear Mr. Dursley,_

"_As you well know, there was some unfortunate material on the Muggle television this morning. Being a Muggle who knows about the wizarding population, we're sure you understand the considerable trouble this has caused us. We've had Obliviators out across Great Britain all morning, modifying the memories of the Muggles who saw the message._

"_Due to the fact that you already are aware of the wizarding community, we have no need to modify your memory. However, we cordially ask that you do your part to uphold the International Statute of Secrecy and not tell any other Muggles about your experience earlier this morning. If you do not, we will have to track down everyone you speak to and modify their memories._

"_While it is not permissible for a Muggle to be put on trial in a wizard court for breaking the Statute of Secrecy, we can still find suitably nasty things to do to you._

"_Thank you, and have a pleasant day._"

When Harry had finished reading and looked up, Vernon barked, "Well?"

"It's not for me," Harry said.

"As if Dudders did anything to get a letter from _your_ people!" Vernon said. Harry noticed that his face had gone a shade of purple that he hadn't seen yet this summer. Maybe if he were lucky he wouldn't see it again until the next one. "What did you do, boy? It says something about a television!"

Harry glanced at Dudley, who was staring at the kitchen table as if it were about to do an interesting trick. Harry could tell the truth, but really, what would he have to gain from that? Either Vernon and Petunia wouldn't believe him, or he and Dudley would both get in trouble, in which case Dudley would make Harry's life hell. In any case, Dudley would probably keep his threat to lie and say he'd caught Harry watching television. "I couldn't sleep last night," Harry said, "so I went downstairs to watch the news. There was something about magic on the news by mistake, so the Ministry is trying to cover it up. I guess they knew I was watching and thought it was Dudley."

Dudley looked up at Harry, eyes bulging with surprise, but Vernon only squinted his eyes further in fury. "So, sneaking around our house at night, are you? Causing trouble and trying to frame your innocent cousin, then?"

"No, not like that!" Harry said. "I wasn't—"

"It's not that big a deal," Dudley interrupted loudly. "I know loads of guys that watch the news at night."

Harry, Vernon, and Petunia stared at him. It would be hard to say who was the most shocked that he was defending Harry. Even Dudley looked rather surprised at himself.

"Guys... like who?" Vernon asked.

"Like Jack Candle," Dudley said. "You know the Candles, Mum."

Petunia frowned a moment, and then her eyes lit up in recognition. "Oh, that's right. Vernon, dear, remember? We met them at that opera-or-whatever we went to, the Firebird."

"Oh yes," Vernon said. "Dreadful show. Didn't they think so too?"

"They did," Petunia said, nodding. Obviously they approved of the family. Hopefully, Harry thought, they'd approve of Jack Candle's nighttime activities, too, and let him off the hook.

But before he could find out if they did, something rapped on the window and drew their attention. Vernon leaped to his feet with an enraged cry. "OWLS!"

"Sorry!" Harry said. Hedwig was sitting outside, peering in at the room. "I'll take care of her!" He ran out of the kitchen before the Dursleys could stop him and up the stairs to his room. He had just shut the door when Hedwig flew inside.

"That was close," Harry muttered, stroking Hedwig's feathers and trying not to listen to Vernon's angry bellows downstairs. She hooted proudly, and held out her leg with a note tied around it. So Hermione had replied. Harry thanked Hedwig and took the letter to read it.

_"Harry,_

_"I didn't see the video when it was on, but a neighbor taped it and showed it to us. My parents got a note reminding them not to talk about what they saw, and I guess the Ministry confiscated the tape. At least, I hope so—I don't know if they would have thought to do that._

_"I got a letter from Ron while I was replying to yours. Apparently he's seen it as well, his father showed it to the family. He said there was a spell that let them see what a video tape contains. I didn't know there was such a thing, there's nothing about it in the books we've read. It must be newly developed. Oh, I wish I was still in Muggle Studies, we would have covered Muggle-related spells in fifth year! I'll have to ask Mr. Weasley about it the next time we see him._

_"Harry, I can't find anything about a Dark Lord her age, unless she's in disguise. I've got subscriptions to four international wizarding papers and none of them have mentioned anything. The closest in age and gender is Dark Lord Mmadipetsane, but she's in Lesotho. She certainly wouldn't be white and I don't know why she would speak English with a French accent. I have no idea who the one on the tape is._

_"I don't know if she's R.A.B. It's possible, but why would she only come forward now? Anyway, we need to keep that possibility open._

_"We've got to get to Ron's house as soon as possible. This could be very serious. I'll need to do more research on all the foreign Dark Lords—I can't believe we didn't think to do that before, what if You-Know-Who had gone to them for assistance? We've been so stupid! Anyway, as soon as I'm ready to go, I'll come by your house to Apparate us both to the Burrow. Hopefully we can get there before the Order comes by and tells you to stay low, you _know_ they will._

_"Get everything you need to go together as quickly as you can._

_"Hermione."_

The room suddenly felt colder, as if a Dementor had flown past the window. Harry re-read the letter, hoping he'd misunderstood. Foreign Dark Lords? _All_ the foreign Dark Lords? Why hadn't he known there were more? How many _were_ there?

For a brief moment, Harry had a mental vision of the world crawling with skull-masked armies led by red-eyed snake-faced mass murderers. Was that what was really going on outside of the UK? Were there Dark Lords scattered across the globe where groups like the Order and the Aurors could never hope to reach them?

Was the whole war against Voldemort pointless?

Harry read the letter again, and the last sentence finally sunk in. Pack. Yes. He needed to pack. Numbly, he folded the letter, put it in a pocket, and started piling all his belongings into his trunk.

* * *

Late that day, as the sun set over the Forbidden Forest, Nagini slunk between the trunks and roots of the trees, hardly making a sound. She had been slithering in a wide circle for so long that her body had started to wear a rut in the dirt. To anyone watching, she was a sinister figure, almost as invisible in the dusk. She looked as though she might be lurking in wait of some prey.

To anyone who could see her thoughts, they would know she was doing the closest equivalent to pacing her body would allow. Nagini has been waiting almost two hours. She was nervous.

Two small spiders scuttled by, and hesitated, watching her. She hissed at them. "Shoo! I am a friend of basilisks!" She didn't know if spiders understood Parseltongue, but they did run away. Nagini hoped they wouldn't come back with bigger friends.

At last, another sound—the whisper of a second, smaller snake approaching. Nagini raised her head to look.

"My Queen! Oh friend of us all, I come with news!" the grass snake cried happily.

Voldemort would most likely have punished the snake for having taken so long, and then told it to drop the fancy language and get to the point. However, Nagini was not Voldemort. She _liked_ the fancy language. "Oh loyal follower, new friend of mine, I thank you for your news," she said. "How went your mission?"

"It was flawless. I was able to infiltrate the dwelling of the smooth-skinned orangutans with ease, through tunnels they are too large to enter," the snake said. In other words, he'd snuck into Hogwarts through cracks in the walls. "The chamber I sought was precisely where you described it, dear Queen."

"Excellent, friend Ophidia," Nagini said. "What did you find?"

"I located the diadem as you said, friend of all. I also thought to bite onto it and hide it more thoroughly beneath a pile of books," Ophidia said. "It tasted of bitter magic."

"Most outstanding!" Nagini said. "I thank you deeply, dear friend. You have done a great favor for your Queen."

"I thank you for the kind praise," Ophidia said, squirming a bit on the ground with pleasure.

"I have one more favor to ask of you," Nagini said. Voldemort wouldn't be happy, but, well, there wasn't much he could do to her, was there?

"I will do anything for the good of my queen!" Ophidia said.

"I need to learn the condition of one of the smooth-skinned orangutans, by the name of Harry Potter. He has black fur, a scar on his head shaped like a broken stick, and those round things on his face called 'glasses.' Do you know what glasses look like, friend Ophidia?"

"I do, dear Queen," he said.

"Harry Potter speaks with our tongue," Nagini said. "You pass along the word until someone finds him, and asks how he is faring."

"I shall!" Ophidia said. "It will not take long, oh Queen. May your winter be distant and sunny!" With this farewell, he hurried off into the darkness to pass on the word.

Nagini slithered out of the forest and gazed up at Hogwarts for a moment, before heading towards the Quidditch pitch, where a Death Eater would be waiting for her on Voldemort's orders. She had been told to check on the condition of his Horcruxes, but she couldn't get around by herself.

Voldemort would be annoyed if he found she'd inquired about Harry Potter. He refused to believe that the boy was a Horcrux, no matter what Nagini said. She was better at telling these things than humans, she said. She could feel the size of the piece of soul that Voldemort had given her, and it wasn't big enough if she were only the sixth Horcrux, she said. What about the mental connection between them and Harry, it had to be important, she said. But no, that didn't convince him! After all, Dark Lord Voldemort always knew more than everyone around him, especially anyone who was "inferior" to a wizard.

Well, Nagini didn't care. She'd checked the condition of the rest of the Horcruxes already, and if her master wasn't going to check on Harry, she would.

Someone had to be responsible.

* * *

It had taken all afternoon to calm Mrs. Weasley down after Harry and Hermione's sudden appearance. It had taken even longer to calm the rest of the Order of the Phoenix once they'd heard the news, especially Moody. It was a miracle, he said, that Death Eaters hadn't swarmed the Burrow already. They were most likely as distracted by this new "Dark Lord" as everyone else. By the time Mr. Weasley got home from work (it had been a hell of a day for him—if hijacking every television station in Great Britain hadn't been a misuse of Muggle artifacts, he didn't know what was), the Burrow was completely protected with an elaborate web of defensive charms, spells, and hexes.

The first thing the Order decided that evening was that under no circumstances was Harry to be allowed to go to Hogsmeade on Friday.

He, Ron, and Hermione were already planning how to get there anyway.

"Looks to me like Apparition there's our best bet," Ron whispered. He had his head propped off his pillow with his elbow.

"Yeah, but the tough part's gonna be getting away to Disapparate without anyone seeing us," said Harry, who was sitting up in bed. They couldn't consult with Hermione during the night; she was sharing Ginny's room.

"If it's too hard to get away, we can just Disapparate right in front of Mum," Ron said. "It's not like she'd be able to stop us then, right?"

Harry grinned. "She'd kill you, mate. And she'd know where we went."

"I know. That'll be our last resort," Ron said. "Anyway, let's wait till we can ask Hermione what to do about that. So, what do we do when we get there? Think we should try to get close to that girl from the tape? She doesn't like You-Know-Who, obviously. Maybe she's on our side."

"But she's a Dark Lord too," Harry said. "At least, that's what she called herself." He still needed to ask Hermione about the others she'd mentioned. He had a feeling that sooner or later, once they'd dealt with Voldemort, they would start running into the others.

"That's another thing that's been bugging me," Ron said thoughtfully. "About the Dark Lord thing."

"What about it?" Harry asked.

"Well, she's a girl. Doesn't that make her a Dark Lady or something? Dark Lordess? I don't know."

Harry laughed, covering his mouth to muffle the sound. "You're worried about _that?_"

"Well, aren't you curious?" Ron said defensively.

"I am now," Harry admitted. "But really, with all the other stuff that's going on..."

He trailed off, grin fading. What was that?

"Harry? What's wrong?" Ron said.

"Shh! I heard something!"

Ron fell silent as Harry stood up. Something was whispering, just at the edge of his hearing... just like the basilisk had, except fainter... outside?

He crept to Ron's window and pushed back the curtain. He almost jumped, and Ron let out a startled shout. A snake was sitting on the windowsill outside, head raised several inches and peering inside. It was looking at Harry.

"How'd that get up there?" Ron asked. His voice was much higher than normal.

"I don't know," Harry said. His scar hadn't started hurting; maybe this snake had nothing to do with Voldemort. But if that was so, what was it doing at a window several floors up, staring at _him?_ "Get your wand. I'm gonna open the window."

He heard Ron scramble out of bed. "Got it."

"Okay." Harry unlatched the window, mentally counted to three, and pushed it up.

The snake didn't move. It and Harry stared at each other a moment, and then it said, "Good evening. Do you have glasses?"

"Do I... er, what?"

"Do you have glasses?" the snake repeated.

"Uh. Yeah?" Harry took them off and held them out.

The snake inspected them. "I thank you. I didn't know those were glasses." As Harry put his glasses back on, the snake gave him a sharp look. "Are you a friend or an enemy?"

"What?" Harry said. "I don't know. Friend, I guess?"

The snake apparently relaxed. It lowered its head a bit and let it weave back and forth. "I am pleased to meet you, new friend. I am Ladon. Are you Harry Potter?"

"Uh, yeah. That's me," Harry said. "Nice to meet you too?"

"How are you, friend?" Ladon asked.

"Fine," Harry said. "I guess. I mean, I'm all right. Yeah. Pretty good." Something about the snake's manner made him want to act more polite. It was much more pleasant than the basilisk, at least.

"I am happy to hear so," Ladon said. "My Queen, friend of us all, wishes you well."

"Oh, thanks," Harry said, utterly confused.

Ladon slithered to the edge of the windowsill. "Farewell, my friend! May your summer extend throughout the year."

"Yeah, bye," Harry said faintly. The snake disappeared.

After a moment, Ron said, "What was that, Harry?" He sounded terrified. "All I got was a bunch of hissing."

"I don't know," Harry said. He paused to review the conversation, and then added, "It asked me if I wear glasses."

Ron remained silent for a moment, waiting for more. "_What?_"

"Glasses," Harry repeated. "And then it decided we're friends, and asked how I'm doing." He shrugged.

"Is that it?" Ron asked.

"Basically."

"Have snakes ever done that before?" Ron asked. "Just... popped by to say hello?"

"No, never," Harry said. The only snake that he'd ever just had a casual conversation with was the one he'd accidentally freed from the zoo six years ago.

"Huh." Ron scratched his head, bewildered. "Must be some nutter of a snake. Maybe it did it on a dare... you know, 'Bet you can't find a human that understands snakes' or something."

"Maybe," Harry said. He didn't think it was likely, but he didn't know anything about snakes anyway.

"We should get to bed before Mum finds us. C'mon," Ron said.

Quietly, they climbed into their beds. Harry took off his glasses and studied them in the dim light, before setting them down.

He'd only shut his eyes for a moment when he opened them again. "Ron?"

"Hmuh?"

"D'you know if snakes have... well... a queen?"

"If what?" Ron groaned. "How should I know? Ask 'Mione, all right?"

"Yeah, sure," Harry said, and heard Ron roll over and go back to sleep. "I'll do that..."

Soon, Harry had fallen asleep as well. He slept soundly until around three in the morning, when his unconscious thoughts were invaded by another's fury:

"The locket, gone, Nagini?! Then does that girl have it? Filthy thief, how dare she! ... My Horcrux..."

"No, Voldemort, it wasn't her." A second voice, inhuman but female, soothing the first with soft hisses. "I don't know who first took it. However, I know who has it now—a woman at the Ministry acquired it. She will treat it well. She recognizes its worth as Salazar Slytherin's heirloom, if not as your Horcrux."

'The _Ministry!_ Still, it could be in far worse places..."

Then the alien thoughts drifted away, the echoes mingling with Harry's unconscious and giving him dreams of a Snake Queen Voldemort until dawn.

* * *

A/N: So there's chapter 2! Hope you enjoyed. (Major points to anyone who gets the reference to Mmadipetsane.) Please review, let me know what you think!


	3. Let Them Eat Cake

Apologies (to all... six of you) for not updating in a ridiculously long time. Methinks I'm finally back on a regular updating schedule, so it should be more frequent henceforth. Anyway, here is chapter three, in which there is a confrontation. Wewt. Hope you enjoy, and any and all reviews/comments/whatever would be muchly appreciated! Thank you!

* * *

Most Prized Possession

Let Them Eat Cake

* * *

As Friday drew nearer, the Ministry made preparations for the appearance of two Dark Lords. They were not about to let Voldemort and the girl have a quiet little chitchat in Hogsmeade by themselves. From what Harry, Ron, and Hermione heard from Mr. Weasley and the other Order members, every single Auror in any sort of condition to fight would be in the village, waiting, a day before the scheduled meet, along with quite a few other witches and wizards who simply wanted the opportunity to get a piece at the Death Eaters when there were Aurors around to guard them.

While Harry listened to all these preparations, he wondered whether or not it was a good thing that this girl had issued a challenge to Voldemort. Up until now, Voldemort had always conducted his business in the shadows, his Death Eaters acting as terrorists—you never knew who or where they were until the damage had been done. But now, they'd all be drawn out into the open, in one very specific place at one very specific time. If ever the battlefield between the Death Eaters and the Ministry was to be level, it would be on Friday.

Naturally, Molly Weasley forbade the trio from going. This didn't faze them in the slightest. On Friday morning, they made their plans to escape.

"If we simply disappear, Mrs. Weasley will know where we've gone," Hermione said to the boys. Mrs. Weasley was convinced she was outside reading, the result of a particularly convincing Inveritas Videmus spell; it created an illusion that looked real from fifteen feet away or more, in this case an illusion of Hermione sitting under a tree with a book. "She'd definitely follow us to bring us back."

"Well, can't we do those Invertigo things to trick Mum?" Ron asked, gesturing out the window. "It's working now. I mean, if she knew we were all up here right now she'd come break us up."

"They only work from a certain distance," Hermione explained. "And it's _Inveritas_, Ron. Invertigo is the charm to cancel out motion sickness. Besides, they wouldn't trick her all day. What would happen when she called us in for dinner and we didn't come?"

"Oh yeah," Ron muttered. "That'd be a problem."

Harry was only half listening, staring out the window of Ron's room. His scar was lightly pulsing, like the beginnings of a headache; he could hear the faint murmur of Voldemort's thoughts in the back of his head, not quite agitated enough to take over Harry's mind, but definitely worried. Harry had never felt him this nervous for such a long time.

"Harry?" Ron said. "What do you think?"

He started. He hadn't realized he'd faded out so completely. "Oh, uh, I agree with Hermione."

This didn't seem to satisfy either of them. "Honestly, Harry," Hermione said, "this isn't the time for you to—"

She was cut off by a shriek from downstairs. "What are you doing here?" Mrs. Weasley shouted, and then laughed. "Come in, come in!"

The trio glanced at each other. "Meet you downstairs," Hermione said, and Disapparated so she could come inside from "reading." Harry and Ron got up and ran out of the room.

They reached the living room at the same time as Hermione. Mrs. Weasley was there with a woman who looked to be about her age, and was slender, with wild auburn hair.

"Oh Hermione, good timing!" Mrs. Weasley said. "How was your book?"

"Er, very interesting," Hermione said awkwardly, putting her hands behind her back to hide the fact that she didn't have a book.

"Very good, very good," Mrs. Weasley said warmly. "I suppose I should do introductions, should I? Vicky, this is Harry Potter and Hermione Granger—and I'm sure you remember Ron?"

"Oh yes," Vicky said. "He's grown quite a bit."

Mrs. Weasley chuckled. "So he has. And, kids—this is Victoria Weasley, Arthur's cousin. You probably don't remember her, Ron. You were barely two the last time she visited. She works for the Anansi Society in Ghana, a charity group for the protection of magical arachnids."

"Oh. Hello, Vicky," Ron said, quite glumly.

"I'll show you my pictures of the spiders later," Vicky said, winking at Ron. "You boys are all into that sort of thing, aren't you?"

Ron didn't reply.

"Can I get anything for you, Vicky?" Mrs. Weasley asked. "I'm sorry I don't have anything prepared, Arthur didn't tell me you'd be coming in from Africa! And what a time to come."

"Yes, quite a bit going on, isn't there?" Vicky said vaguely.

"I could get some tea going," Mrs. Weasley offered. "It's a bit early for lunch, but if you're feeling peckish..."

"Oh—no, thank you," Vicky said quickly. "Actually, this is a rather short visit—I just wanted to pop in and say hello. You see... um, Arthur asked me to come."

"Oh?" Mrs. Weasley said, eyebrows raised.

"Yes, he heard I was in town, and he needed someone to come by here," Vicky said. "The Ministry's got their atrium set up so visitors can see what's going on in Hogsmeade from there, kind of like those Muggle places... what are they called? Moving theaters?" She glanced towards Hermione and Harry. Harry shrugged and Hermione muttered, "Close enough."

Vicky shrugged back. "Anyway, all sorts of witches and wizards are going there to watch. Arthur thought I should take the kids, so they won't need to sneak out to the actual battlefield. At least they'll be able to watch the action."

"Oh, that's a wonderful idea!" Mrs. Weasley said brightly. "What do you think about that?" she asked the trio.

They made an assortment of noncommittal noises. If they were being accompanied by Vicky, it would be harder to sneak away—just watching the action meant they couldn't help out at all. Then again, escaping Vicky in a crowded atrium would be easier than evading Mrs. Weasley.

"We'll want to go soon," Vicky said, "before it gets too full."

"All right, we'll go," Hermione said.

Mrs. Weasley, who apparently had been worried they'd try to refuse, smiled widely. "Wonderful!"

For the next ten minutes she hurried them around, getting them ready to go, and after she had given them the lecture not to run off and get in trouble at least six times, Vicky reminded Mrs. Weasley that they had to leave quickly. She watched them as they went outside, Vicky grabbed Harry and Hermione's hands and told Ron to hold her wrist, and they Disapparated.

They did not Apparate in the Ministry of Magic. They didn't even end up anywhere in London. "Here we are," Vicky said, letting go of their hands and beaming across the street at the Three Broomsticks.

"Er... Vicky? This isn't the Ministry..." Ron said.

"No, not at all." Vicky's hair was changing. It shortened, curled, and lightened from auburn to a pastel green. She smiled at the group, and her face now looked much younger and quite devious. "Whatta you say? Think we tricked her?"

Hermione and Ron cheered. "That was brilliant, Tonks!" Harry said. "Absolutely genius!"

"Mad-Eye's gonna kill me," Tonks said cheerily. "But I figured if you aren't here with adult supervision, you'll be running around without it. We can't have that, now can we?"

"I can't believe you!" Hermione said, but she was grinning. "You're going to get in so much trouble, do you know that?"

"It's a madhouse in the making here, no one will care," Tonks said. Her expression turned grim. "There's no sign of our two guests f honor yet, but most of You-Know-Who's followers are already waiting."

"Really?" Harry said. He looked around the street. It seemed completely deserted. In fact, he hadn't seen anyone else yet. "Where are they?"

"Out east, at the meeting place. Most of the town's been evacuated," Tonks said. "I should probably show you. Here, wait a second." She cast a Disillusionment Charm on each of them, and then they started walking, Tonks asking every once in a while if they were still there.

Soon, they were walking through the residential streets on the edge of town. The last time Harry had been here was in his fourth year, to visit Sirius and Buckbeak. The thought immediately made the entire mood of the situation darker, and it had been getting progressively gloomier to begin with. Even after a year, it still hurt to think he would never see his godfather again.

And he was about to see the army that had caused Sirius's death. Not to mention a new Dark Lord who even had Voldemort a bit nervous, if Harry's tingling scar was anything to go by. Of course, the Aurors would be there, but how much would they be able to do?

"Why are you here, Harry Potter?"

Harry stopped, looking around for the voice. "What?" He was in the middle of a completely empty street, dark houses on each side.

"You should have known better than to come," said the voice, and only then did Harry realize that it wasn't speaking English and neither was he.

A snake? They were certainly being talkative lately. Did it have anything to do with what was about to happen?

Thinking about the snake that had spoken to him a few days ago, Harry asked, on a whim, "Are you a friend or an enemy?"

There was a long silence. "You know not what you ask," the snake said. "To ask, you must offer your own friendship first. The promise of a snake's friendship is a powerful force. Do you really seek that?"

"I asked you a question!" Harry said. "What is it with you snakes these days? If saying you're a friend is like a snake's Unbreakable Vow, then fine. I've got enough enemies already."

Harry heard a stirring, a dry rasping slither behind him. He turned around. There was something lurking in the tall plants of the house's flowerbed.

"If you wish me to choose," the snake said, gliding into view, "then I will not choose to be your enemy. I am your friend, Harry Potter."

Harry mentally cursed his rashness. Nagini came forward and lifted her head, so it was a couple of feet off the grass. She regarded Harry from ten feet away, occasionally flicking out her tongue as if to taste him on the air.

"It is good to have you as a friend," Nagini said, with no trace of mockery or insincerity. "I believe we have both found ourselves unwillingly connected to a particular someone."

"You mean Voldemort?" Harry said, not quite able to accept that he was having this conversation with Voldemort's pet.

"I do," Nagini said. "Your bond may be more emotionally painful than mine, my friend, but at least you do not live with him."

"I... guess that's true," Harry said. "But aren't you in with him on everything? Don't you help him kill?"

"I help him kill, yes, but the deaths I assist in mean little to me. The death of a smooth-skinned orangutan disturbs me as much as the death of a snake would disturb you. They are not of my kind," she said. "Voldemort knows that if he should kill any of my friends, he will lose me and my part of his soul. As long as he keeps his word, I must remain loyal."

Harry's first thought was wondering when humans had become "smooth-skinned orangutans." The he realized that Nagini was being forced to work for Voldemort with her entire species held hostage. No, it was more than that—he realized she was holding Voldemort's soul hostage with the threat of her own suicide, all to defend her friends. "I'm sorry," he said. He couldn't imagine what that must be like.

"I thank you, my friend. However, for the time I am satisfied," Nagini said. "It has been a long time since snakes have had such a powerful orangutan willing to defend us. There hasn't been such a protector since Salazar Slytherin."

Nagini reared her head back and looked to the east, as if she were hearing a call. "Farewell, Harry Potter," she said. "You may witness the upcoming confrontation without fear. Today, your side is not the Death Eaters' target."

She lowered her head to the ground and slithered away. "May the summer heat sustain you the year, my friend." She disappeared into the grass.

"Harry?" someone shouted, from farther along the street. "Harry! Say something!"

He realized he still had the Disillusionment on. To Tonks, Ron, and Hermione, he'd simply vanished. "I'm here!" he shouted, running forward until he could see Tonks again. "Sorry. I got distracted. I guess I fell behind."

Tonks glared at some spot over Harry's right shoulder. "Don't do that! Merlin, give me a heart attack, why don't you?"

"Are you all right?" asked Hermione's voice from somewhere to his left.

He'd have to tell them about what had happened with Nagini, he knew. But not right now, especially not with Tonks listening.

"It's nothing," Harry said, as they started walking again. "I was just thinking about Sirius."

Hermione didn't have a chance to respond to that statement, because Tonks pointed and said, "There they are."

Harry looked up, and his jaw dropped. Just beyond the last buildings, in the empty fields between Hogsmeade and the mountains, were hundreds, perhaps thousands of people, two armies. Hunkered defensively at the foot of the hills was a mass of black-robed figures, the Death Eaters. The Aurors—and based on the numbers, quite a few others who wanted to fight—were spread in a wide arc around the Death Eaters. Both sides were eerily still.

As they drew closer, Harry could see two people standing between the opposing sides. "Who's that?" Harry asked. It couldn't be the Dark Lords already...

"Ambassadors between the Death Eaters and the Ministry," Tonks said quietly. "None of us want a fight until we know what's going on. What if we're in the middle of a battle when this new Dark Lord comes and brings her own army, ready to attack?"

"Blimey, that'd be a disaster," Ron muttered.

"So who's out there?" Hermione asked.

"Severus Snape and Dolores Umbridge," Tonks said.

They attempted to absorb this information. "Wait," Ron said, "which one's on our side?"

"Haven't a clue," Tonks said darkly. "If you ask me, the good guys are being poorly represented."

They had to stop talking as they drew near the Aurors. "Hi, all, didja miss me?" Tonks said, trying to sound bright.

A few Aurors smiled faintly, obviously making an effort to be cheerful. Harry saw Lupin in the group; apparently no one cared right now whether or not he was a werewolf, as long as he was fighting on their side. Lupin looked disappointed to see that Tonks had returned, and more than a little worried.

"About time you got back," Moody grumbled, not turning to look at her. "What took you so—" He stopped dead, then roared, "Bloody hell, Tonks! What do you think you're doing?"

She jumped, and Moody whirled around, his magical eye hopping around the scene. It landed straight on Harry's face quite a few times. "Are you trying to get these three killed?"

"Uh..." Tonks said. By now the other Aurors were starting to notice a slight disturbance in the air; a Disillusionment Charm wasn't perfect. They were looking in the general area where Harry, Ron, and Hermione were supposed to be. "They would have come here anyway, you know that," Tonks said. "At least they've got us to watch them now."

"We don't need to be baby-sitting, today of all days," Moody said. He walked forward and took off the Disillusionments on Hermione, Harry, and then Ron. The other Aurors murmured in surprise, many of them glancing at Harry's forehead.

"Harry?" Lupin said, eyes wide. "Ron, Hermione? What are you doing here?"

"You didn't think we'd miss a chance to see Voldemort, did you?" Harry said grimly, to the flinches of several surrounding Aurors.

"But—you can't be here!" Lupin said. "If there's a battle—"

"We can help," Hermione said, crossing her arms. Harry and Ron nodded in agreement.

"No, not with—you mustn't—" Lupin turned to Moody for back up.

Moody shrugged. "They're here now," he said, defeated. "We can't afford to run back and forth, hauling kids around. We need more forces here." He eyed the trio with his magic eye, though he was looking at Lupin with his normal one. "Besides, they can take care of themselves."

"What?!" Lupin looked at Mad-Eye as if he truly had gone mad. Harry quietly high-fived Ron, and Hermione sighed in relief.

"So, what are we doing?" Ron asked.

"Having a picnic," Moody said dryly.

"No, really," Ron said.

Moody nodded to the side, and Harry looked where he had gestured. The Aurors were gathered around a large blanket spread on the ground. In the middle were several platters of food, and plates set around the edge for them to sit at.

"We have a lot of free time until five," Tonks explained. With a wave of her wand, she summoned three more plates and scooted aside several others to give the new ones room to be set down around the blanket. "Shall we?"

Slowly, the Aurors gathered around the blanket and sat down again, most eyeing the trio.

"Are you going to introduce us to your stowaways, Tonks?" an older witch with short, curly white hair asked.

"Oh! Right," Tonks said. "Everyone, this is Hermione Granger." Hermione nodded in greeting. "Ron Weasley—don't worry 'bout him, he's more like his dad than like Percy. And this is—"

"Tonks..." Moody growled. His eye spun backwards into his head, but Harry got the impression it was looking straight towards the Death Eater camp. "Not so loud."

"Er, right. You all know who he is," Tonks said, gesturing weakly at Harry.

All faces immediately looked towards Harry—or rather, towards his scar. He bent his head down to avoid their gazes, and wondered whether he should push his hair off his forehead to give them a better view, or smooth it down over his scar.

"When that girl shows up—assuming she isn't just pulling the worst prank in history—you three'll be in the back," Moody informed Harry, Ron, and Hermione, before they could start eating. "If a battle breaks out, we can't afford to lose you, any of you."

"Yeah, all right," Ron said, throwing Harry and Hermione a look that clearly said _make us_.

"Of course," Hermione said.

"No problem."

Moody snorted. "Least you're good actors," he said. "Pack of trouble-makers."

They suppressed their grins.

"That's not for several hours, though," Lupin said. "For now, let's just eat."

"Great, I'm starved," Ron said, grabbing a ham sandwich. They'd left the Burrow before lunch. Harry reached out to scoop what looked like potato salad onto his plate.

"I should warn you, friend of the Queen," whispered a small voice; Harry had to look around himself a couple of times before he discovered a tiny snake next to his leg, "The orangutan who uncovered that bowl sneezed in it three times."

Harry froze with the scoop of salad still in mid-air and glanced around the blanket until he spotted a wizard with tired sags under his eyes who kept sniffing heavily. He looked utterly miserable and very contagious.

"Um, thanks," Harry said.

"You are welcome, my friend. I hope your winters are warm," said the snake, and vanished into the grass again.

Harry put the spoonful of potato salad back, sighing. He saw Ron reach for it and said, "You don't want that, mate."

Ron stopped. "Why not?"

"Just trust me," Harry said, deciding to take a sandwich like Ron's.

Now that he thought about it, maybe being a friend with snakes could have a few advantages.

* * *

Death Eaters, traditionally, acted at night. They were not inclined to emerge during the daylight hours, to do their deeds where they might be seen; they acted in the shadows of nighttime. Therefore, their clothes were designed for the same purpose. Black robes to hide in the dark, thick cloth to keep out the cold, heavy masks to hide their identities.

Which meant their clothes weren't made for running around in the late summer mid-afternoon heat.

The Death Eaters were in agony.

Most of them were sitting, trying to generate as little heat as possible, heads bent low so the sun wasn't shining in their eyes. A few were sitting in the shadows cast by Crabbe's and Goyle's hulking forms, though that didn't really offer much relief. It would be so easy to simply cast Chilling Charms, but part of their temporary truce with the Aurors and the Ministry included no use of excessive magic by either side, and that many charms at once would definitely be "excessive."

A few even dared to take off their masks long enough to wipe their sweaty faces, though they were careful to keep their faces turned from the Ministry, some forty feet away, and hold their masks ready to immediately put back on should Lord Voldemort appear.

It was Voldemort's idea that he not be present until just before the girl was supposed to show up, and there was wisdom in the decision. His presence would only make this brief truce with the Aurors and the Ministry more difficult. However, some thought he was just avoiding the heat.

But with Voldemort's unofficial second-in-command looming over the army like a hungry cobra over her prey, none of them were about to say so.

"What time is it?" Bellatrix asked her sister. (They couldn't risk checking the time by magic, and since Muggles had been first to invent watches, Bellatrix refused to own one on principle alone.)

Narcissa (who didn't care nearly as much about the origins of watches) pushed up her sleeve to check. "Just past two," she said. She was sitting in Bellatrix's shadow, who was among the few Death Eaters still standing.

"Three hours," Bellatrix murmured, scanning the fields. Where would the girl appear? What would she say? What could she possibly be thinking—challenging the Dark Lord, her Lord Voldemort?

_Tom_, her thoughts reminded her. Voldemort had already informed all his followers that in no way would he tolerate being addressed in a casual manner by his followers. Which meant he was still "_Lord_," and more importantly, "Lord _Voldemort_." Still... Tom. Not bad. It was manly, Bellatrix thought. She ran through all the pure-blood surnames she could think of: Tom Black, Tom Lestrange, Tom Malfoy, Tom Purcell, Tom Nott, Tom Avery, Tom Lockhart, Tom Crouch, Tom Carrow... None of them sounded quite right. Still, it had to be _some_ notable family...

Bellatrix could safely strike the Weasleys off the list, all those redhead blood traitors. And, upon further thought, the Lockharts were off as well; most of them had been Muggle-lovers, too. In fact, Voldemort himself had killed all of them except what's-his-face, the famous one. Bellatrix could _never_ remember his name. How odd, she had quite a good memory for names, and she was certain he was quite well-known...

Bellatrix was startled from her thoughts as something brushed by her foot. She glanced down: Nagini was slithering by and looking quite cheerful, inasmuch as a snake could express emotion. (Bellatrix liked to think that, as Lord Voldemort's most trusted lieutenant, she was a fair bit better than most at determining his pet's moods.) Well, at least someone was enjoying this unholy heat.

"Bella," Narcissa said softly, distracting Bellatrix from watching Nagini. "Did anyone bring food?"

Bellatrix gave her a blank look. She suddenly realized how hungry she was. They'd arrived at around five in the morning. "I don't know," she muttered, disgusted she hadn't noticed earlier. As willing as she was to fight for her Lord under any conditions, not all the Death Eaters had such iron devotion. Which meant she'd have to feed them soon.

So Bellatrix turned from her watch of the enemy, cupper her hands around her mouth (no Sonorus today, she thought sourly), and shouted, "Attention, Death Eaters!"

The forty or so present looked up at her. "Did anyone think to bring food?" she asked.

Never before had so many skull masks looked so sheepish. Bellatrix groaned. "You worthless filth," she said. "What would our Lord say, to know how utterly unprepared you are? You are a shame to the Dark Lord's name, and to think the Death Eat—"

"For Merlin's sake, Lestrange! It's just some bloody food!"

Bellatrix's mouth snapped shut and she peered around, trying to determine who had spoken. "I beg your pardon? You would rather starve?"

For a moment, there was silence, until another voice, closer, spoke. "_You_ didn't bring any food, did you?"

"Draco!" Narcissa hissed, horrified. "Hold your tongue!"

Bellatrix shot a withering glare at her nephew. "I plan on rectifying that mistake immediately," she said. "Unlike some of you." Draco didn't meet her eyes.

Bellatrix turned to face the Ministry again and drew her wand, to the nervous murmurs of the Death Eaters—what about the truce? She lifted it and said, "Accio food!"

In a moment, half a dozen full platters of food had zoomed into the Death Eaters' camp and set down in the middle of the group. From the shouting that started from the Ministry's side, it hadn't gone unnoticed.

Bellatrix surveyed the food critically, as if she were inspecting it for defects. "The Aurors certainly know how to pack," she said, to the jeering laughter of the others. She sat down around the food before the rest could squeeze in (there wouldn't be enough food for everyone), created a plate, and started serving herself.

"Bellatrix, do you think that was wise?" Lucius asked quietly. He was sitting with his family, Draco between himself and Narcissa. "Severus seems to be having trouble."

"Oh?" Bellatrix looked up. That crazy Auror, Mad-Eye, had joined the fat Ministry lady acting as a diplomat to yell at Severus, probably about their lost meal.

"He could use back-up," Bellatrix mused. "Draco? Go help Severus."

"What?!" Draco said. His skin (which was beginning to get quite burned) completely blanched. "But, that's Mad-Eye! I... F-ferrets—"

Ferrets? "Go," Bellatrix said. "Make yourself useful."

Draco stared at her in horror. Narcissa said, with a fearful glance at her sister, "Draco, do as she says." Slowly, Draco stood and walked towards Severus like a man heading to the gallows.

"It's about time he helps out," Bellatrix said, and ate a large forkful of potato salad. Not bad. She wondered why the Aurors hadn't eaten it.

* * *

As the hour approached five, the idle conversations of the Aurors, tense to begin with, slowly died off, and they all found themselves watching the Death Eaters. (The loss of their lunch didn't help their mood at all, but they weren't quite prepared to start a full-blown battle over it.) Without Moody there to shoo Harry, Ron, and Hermione away, all three stayed at the front with the other Aurors. They weren't leaving now, so close to the appearance of two Dark Lords.

With only a few minutes until five, the Death Eaters suddenly leaped into a flurry of movement. Harry's scar let out a dull throb. "That's him," he whispered to Ron and Hermione. "He's here."

They each barely nodded. Harry saw Ron's throat work as he swallowed heavily, and Harry drew his wand. In another moment, Voldemort himself stepped from the Death Eater ranks. A ripple of fear and whispers traveled through the arc of Auror and Ministry witches and wizards, but, miraculously, not a single spell was cast by either side. For a brief moment, Harry was acutely aware of why the girl from the video could call herself a Dark Lord. She truly did have power: even if it turned out that she couldn't actually cast a single spell, the mere threat of her arrival had completely halted Voldemort's war.

Voldemort conversed quietly for a moment with one of his followers, then pointed his wand at his throat, murmured a word, and spoke. "I am here as you requested, girl."

Harry jumped and looked wildly around. He noticed many others doing the same thing. The voice had been so clear, so close, as if it were coming from right beside him.

"If you are here, reveal yourself. I am prepared for a trap; in fact, I highly suspect that is exactly what this is," Voldemort said coolly, as if this didn't concern him in the least. "Nevertheless, I am willing to listen to you—briefly. I've met very few foolish enough to challenge me."

"Is this a trap?" Ron whispered to Tonks. "D'you think the Ministry set this up?"

Harry saw her shake her head. "If it is, no one told me," Tonks whispered back, "and the Aurors would've been the ones to do it, don't you think?"

For a minute, the field was silent. "I am _waiting_," Voldemort said, impatience quite clear in his voice. The Aurors automatically lifted their wands another few inches.

Snape and Umbridge had returned to their respective sides, as well as Draco and Moody. In a moment, Moody came up beside Tonks, but only gave Harry, Hermione, and Ron an annoyed glance with his magical eye, before heading to stand at the very front of the Aurors.

At five past five, Hermione whispered, "Do you think it was a mistake? Or a joke?"

"Who would play a joke on You-Know-Who?" Ron whispered.

Before she could answer, a crack like thunder heralded the appearance of a figure in the field, only a couple of feet in front of the Ministry lines. They lifted their wands with shouts of surprise and she whirled around to face them, equally surprised to find the entire Ministry of Magic behind her. Their bafflement might have been funny, in a different situation. But she recovered herself quickly, tipped her head in a courteous way at the confused Ministry officials, and then turned around and strode to the middle of the field. She pointed her wand at her throat, cast a spell, and spoke. Her voice boomed over the fields like a sports announcer.

"It is an 'onor to finally be in ze presence of ze Dark Lord Voldemor'," she said. "We 'ave many t'ings to discuss."

"Or so you say," Voldemort said, still speaking as if he were whispering right in their ears. The girl actually started to turn, confused, and then stopped herself and looked straight at Voldemort—but not before everyone saw her mistake. "What is it you want, girl?"

She tipped her head back and said proudly, "I want an army."

Voldemort laughed, half coldly, half incredulously. "And you think to take mine? Under what authority do you hope to take my Death Eaters?"

"I do not want your Death Eaters. At least, I will not take zem directly," the girl said. "Zeir loyalty does not concern me. I ask for _yours_."

Gasps and murmurs spread through both the Death Eaters and the Aurors. Hermione snorted incredulously. Harry couldn't believe his ears. What kind of insane request was that?

Ron glanced at Harry and muttered, "She hasn't got a snowball's chance in a dragon's nest."

* * *


End file.
